Loathing Leo

By Ash Penn

Loathing Leo is pure hell. Loving him takes so very little effort, but how can Sam love a man who belongs to someone else?

Following yet another drunken night on the tiles, Sam wakes to the knowledge he's finally hit rock bottom. He's lost his dead—end job, his dead—end lover, and the respect of his straight best friend Michael after making a shameful pass at him the night before.

When Michael pushes Sam back into the clutches Leo Hudson, his ex lover, who whisk him away to a house in the middle of nowhere, Sam is left confused and more than a little bit irate at such a betrayal.

What is Michael playing at? He knows Sam doesn't date closeted men. Or married men. Or fathers. As it turns out, Leo Hudson is all three.

Trapped in an isolated house with the man for the course of a weekend, Sam discovers Leo's marriage is not all it seems. Until now he's never given Leo the opportunity to explain himself. After all, how does one explain that a seven-month-long relationship was built on one big fat lie, anyway?

When Sam finds out the truth, he decides he can't fight the feelings he's tried to subdue for so long. He and Leo need to say a proper goodbye if he's to begin his life anew. But will one final night together be enough?

The end of the weekend demands changes for them both. Can Sam make the compromise necessary to keep the man he loves, and will Leo give Sam the recognition he deserves as both partner and lover?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Sep 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781781840719

Ash Penn

I've written stories about men loving men for as long as I can remember. In the days before computers and the internet, I used to hide my stories away convinced there was no market for women who wrote gay male fiction. Fast forward a few years (okay, quite a few years) and there's not only a market, but a whole empire out there for writers like me. I'm thrilled to be able to contribute my stories and take pride in what I write. Many of my characters enjoy making my life as difficult as possible by refusing to take the easy pathway to love. They prefer to swagger through the undergrowth and laugh at me as I point at my story outline and demand they get back on the route I painstakingly mapped out. Lately I've discovered it's far easier to let them dictate what happens and when, although I do get my revenge when it comes to giving them an undesirable trait or two to contend with. My characters are as flawed as their love lives, but they will usually find a kind of imperfect perfection in each other by the time I type 'The End'.

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A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Loathing Leo

ISBN # 978-1-78184-071-9

©Copyright Ash Penn 2012

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2012

Edited by Rebecca Douglas

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-sizzling and a sexometer of 1.

This story contains 128 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 8 pages.

LOATHING LEO

Ash Penn

Loathing Leo is pure hell. Loving him takes so very little effort, but how can Sam love a man who belongs to someone else?

Following yet another drunken night on the tiles, Sam wakes to the knowledge that he’s finally hit rock bottom. He’s lost his dead-end job, his dead-end lover, and the respect of his straight best friend Michael after making a shameful pass at him the night before.

When Michael pushes Sam back into the clutches of Leo Hudson, his ex-lover, who whisks him away to a house in the middle of nowhere, Sam is left confused and more than a little bit irate at such a betrayal.

What is Michael playing at? He knows Sam doesn’t date closeted men. Or married men. Or fathers. As it turns out, Leo Hudson is all three.

Trapped in an isolated house with the man for the course of a weekend, Sam discovers Leo’s marriage is not all it seems. Until now he’s never given Leo the opportunity to explain himself. After all, how does one explain that a seven-month-long relationship was built on one big fat lie, anyway?

When Sam finds out the truth, he decides he can’t fight the feelings he’s tried to subdue for so long. He and Leo need to say a proper goodbye if he’s to begin his life anew. But will one final night together be enough?

The end of the weekend demands changes for them both. Can Sam make the compromise necessary to keep the man he loves, and will Leo give Sam the recognition he deserves as both partner and lover?

Dedication

To my crit group ER Authors—

once again, thanks for your continued support

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

AA: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc,

Special Brew: Carlsberg A/S

Sainsbury’s: J Sainsbury plc

Blue Nun: H. Sichel Söhne

The Little Mermaid: Walt Disney Pictures

Cinderella: Walt Disney Pictures

Snow White: Walt Disney Pictures

Beauty and the Beast: Walt Disney Pictures

Some Like It Hot: United Artists Films, Inc.

Calamity Jane: Warner Brothers. Entertainment, Inc,

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc.

Who Needs Love: Razorlight

Pot Noodle: Unilever PLC

PowerPoint: Microsoft Corporation

Chapter One

Friday

It was a dream, I knew that. Soon as I woke, he’d leave me. Like always.

Where are you, Leo? With her? Making love to her?

As the questions formed on my lips, a particularly malicious image assaulted my mind. The two of them, together. Husband and wife, naked and entwined. Basking in post-coital bliss.

The dream shifted. For a moment, I was her. Lying over him, protecting him… No, guarding him. My fingers were hers, sparkling with diamonds, stroking the thick dark hair shrouding his chest. My mouth, warm and sweet as ripened fruit, kissed him, devoured him. I could almost breathe the citrus taint of cologne, almost lick the hot tang of sweat from his skin.

But I’m not her. I’m me. And Leo’s not mine. He’s hers. He’ll always be hers.

Sam? The dream rippled. Leo stirred beneath me.

Don’t go. Not yet. The only time I’m alive is when I’m sleeping like this, with you… Please Leo. I can’t bear it.

Sam! Something gripped my shoulder tight and shook it until my teeth rattled. For fuck’s sake, will you wake up?

The voice fractured my fantasy, dragging me into the waking world.

I took a breath loaded with the stench of stale beer and lifted my head. I lay face down on a bed—my lumpy, uncomfortable bed. The pillow, not Leo, sat directly underneath, and to my right the ancient lamp flickered beneath its dust-mottled shade on the nightstand. A constant reminder of what I’d lost.

A bolt of pain throbbed through my skull. Who hit me over the head?

No one, Michael said, sounding farther away. "I almost hit you over the head last night, but you started crying so I gave you a reprieve."

Crying? I touched the tight skin around my eyes with my fingertips. Sore and swollen. That explained the blurred vision, moist pillow and the faintest trace of shame.

I rolled over. Glimpses of the previous night broke through the fog. Of Michael propping me up as we returned to my flat. Of begging him not to leave me. Of the lecherous ways in which I’d tried to persuade him to stay.

Oh. Oh fuck. I pressed my palms over my face. That faint trace of shame morphed into a bucket load of humiliation.

Michael snorted. You remember, then.

All too well. Why couldn’t I be one of those drunks whose memory disappeared along with that last dribble of vodka?

I dragged my hands down my cheeks. I’ll stop. I will stop.

Michael switched off the lamp. You’ve said that before.

But I mean it this time.

Maybe. He let go of the lamp and gripped my shoulder instead. Come on, get up. I’ve got something I want you to see.

I can’t see anything. I squinted to hone my vision and my old lamp divided into three. Be okay in a while, I muttered, and wilted into the pillow.

No. Sam, you have to get up. Now. He wrenched my shoulder, near yanking me clean off the bed.

Ouch. What the fuck?

At my sharp cry, he let go and peered down at me with eyes the colour of melted chocolate. All six of them. Only as my vision cleared and Michael’s eyes reverted to the usual two did I catch the spark of agitation within them.

I disgusted him. I disgusted myself. I could only hope he’d understand this was all a part of my grieving process, the process without end.

Michael turned away from me and moved to the window. He peered through the blinds, obviously finding whatever lay beyond them preferable to looking at me any longer. Who could blame him?

I struggled to sit. I still had my clubbing gear on from last night, pink polo shirt and white jeans. They stank a little of stale beer and even staler sweat, but had survived the night better than me.

Uh, thanks for seeing me home and for not knocking my head off when I— I winced as another memory hit me. My own voice drifted back from the sordid depths of the previous night. ‘How do you know you’re not gay? You’ve never even tried it with a guy?’ …When I did what I did.

Be thankful I didn’t take you seriously. If I had— He glared back at me from over his shoulder.

You’d break my nose and never speak to me again. He’d have good reason, too. I’d taken one too many liberties, I knew that. Sober, the thought of doing anything sexual with Michael turned my stomach. It was practically incest. I am sorry. Okay? I guess I…drank too much. I had no other excuse but the truth.

It’s always the drink with you lately, he said, his voice far softer than his gaze.

I hoped he wasn’t going to bang on about AA again. Was it even possible to become addicted to alcohol in eight weeks? I hardly woke all atremble gasping for a can of Special Brew of a morning.

Yeah, I’d got myself fired from my job at the hair salon for rolling into work late a bunch of times, and usually the worse for wear. No one wanted their Barnet butchered, especially by a stylist who couldn’t walk a straight line let alone cut one, but I could stop drinking. Whenever I wanted. I just chose not to. Not until I’d managed to clean the remains of a certain person from my mind. I wasn’t there yet, although the memory of crawling after Michael and begging to let me suck him gave me a big shove me in the right direction.

What are you gawping at? I asked, as Michael’s attention returned to the window.

He spun round really fast, as if he’d been caught with his grubby mitts in the biscuit tin. Nothing.

Well, it’s something. I almost rose to see for myself, only the room tilted so I stayed put.

Nothing important. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and stood with his back to the glass. Can I ask you a question?

You’re asking permission?

No. It’s just, have you thought you might need to talk to someone? And by someone I mean—

I let out a groan and he stopped. Michael, I am not an alcoholic, okay? AA can’t help me. I don’t even qualify for a membership card.

I wasn’t talking about AA, he said, with a slightly camp air of indignation.

Well, what then?

He paused, as if to consider another way of saying alcohol support group. I was talking about Leo.

Leo? ‘Leo who?’ tickled the tip of my tongue but I was never going to get away with asking it. So I said, Never, and hoped he’d go back to lecturing me about my drinking.

The silence stretched. Michael’s gaze roamed my nondescript room before settling at the foot of the bed. You talk to him in your sleep, y’know.

No, I don’t. Spoken way too quickly, the denial sounded pathetic even to my ears.

Michael lifted his face, finally meeting my eye. "This morning you said ‘don’t go’, followed by his name. Last night you were, uh…more explicit. A lot more explicit."

Fuck. All my dreams of Leo were explicit. My cheeks heated to a steady burn. I curled my fingers into fists on my lap.

Maybe you two need to meet up sometime, just to talk, Michael said, like he’d just suggested a perfectly viable idea. You’ve never given him the opportunity to explain himself.

Michael, the man is married. He’s a father. He can’t explain his way out of that. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.

Yeah, he does. He flashed a smug grin. I passed by an office just the other day with the name Leo Hudson written on the door.

I responded with a glare. Michael’s in IT. So is Leo, albeit higher up on the pecking order. They both work for the same company but in different divisions. I guess that makes Leo Michael’s boss, sort of. Maybe Leo had somehow pressured Michael into putting in a good word or two. I wouldn’t have put it past him. 

What are you doing here, anyway? I asked, in a tone just harsh enough he’d take offence and hopefully change the subject.

His smugness smoothed away. I found you in the gutter last night. I stayed over to make sure you didn’t drown in your own puke. Now I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t bothered. He folded his arms and swept his gaze aside. Sulking was definitely preferable to his interrogation.

I ran a hand through my hair, the strands brittle beneath my fingers. It had yet to recover from the bad bleach job I’d subjected it to a month ago whilst under the influence of an alcoholic haze. Instead of platinum locks I had hair the colour of sour milk and the texture of straw. I hadn’t washed it for a couple of days. Neither had I shaved for two weeks, but I was hardly ever plagued by beard growth, so it didn’t bother me much. The hair bothered me, though, and I definitely needed a shower, which I’d take soon as I’d sent Michael on his way.

Don’t you have work? I tried to voice the question casually, so that it didn’t sound too much like ‘I wish you hadn’t bothered either’.

He shook his head. Day off.

Well, isn’t—?

A buzz vibrated through the air. Michael pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen.

Who’s that?

Uh, Gilly. He glanced up with a tight smile.

What does she want?

Nothing. Just wondering what time I’ll be home.

Yeah? And I was just wondering why he was lying. That was not his fiancée on the phone. He always got this stupid, dopey expression whenever she called or texted. He lacked that expression now. He looked shifty. His narrowed eyes and pursed lips indicated he was up to no good.

I hoped he wasn’t having an affair. That would make him almost as bad as Leo. No, I dismissed that idea. Michael loved Gilly too much. On the other hand, I’d thought Leo loved me, but he’d cheated. On his wife.

You didn’t text back, I said.

What? Ah, no, I don’t need to. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and started towards the door. Come on.

Come on where?

He shrugged. Outside.

Why, what’s outside?

A surprise.

Great. I hate surprises, especially morning surprises. I’d woken up to a few of those recently, surprises I’d hauled home from various bars, each worse than the one before. In fact my New Year’s resolution, six weeks early and made just that morning, was to never wake up to

Reviews for Loathing Leo

[jules0623 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Well, I certainly loathe Leo after reading this. He's an abusive asshole. He knows Sam needs a "firm hand"? He demands that Sam "give yourself to me freely and often. Whenever I choose. Non negotiable" as well as obeying a myriad of other 'rules' for the honor of Leo's lying, cheating presence? Then there's the fact he fucking kidnapped Sam, lied to him repeatedly, threatened him with his greatest fear when he wouldn't get in bed with him, and raped him (and it was fucking rape even if Leo stopped before complete penetration). He's doing it all for Sam's own good, though. To help him.

This book is pretty fucked up.

[sharrow_3 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I loathed Leo. He creeped me out and as a result I couldn't finish the book. He came across as controlling and abusive. Did not finish.